


Rubble

by Goodluckdetective (scorpiontales)



Series: Dust to Dust [8]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, F/M, Heavy Angst, Mental Breakdown, Self Confidence Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 23:48:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5225837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiontales/pseuds/Goodluckdetective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even the strongest of foundations can shatter. Warden Brosca returns home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rubble

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a happy fic. It will have a follow up to resolve issues in it, but please know this is very dark.

She couldn’t avoid Orzammar forever.

    Lira knew this. She knew it from the moment everything went to hell, from the very second that the word treaties was uttered. She knew just as well as everyone else that she would have to march back into the gates she once left, and step back into the darkness.

    It was why she put it off for so long.

    Hearing the rumors, as they walked closer to the gates, wasn’t helping matters. A dead king? A city in chaos? It wasn’t surprising, no far from it, but it did little to put her heart at ease. The chances of her current mission being nothing more than an unpleasant trip back home seemed to be fading by the second.

Alistair was not helping matters.

“I’ve never seen Orzammar before,” he said. He walked right next to her, as they’d been doing since they’d become involved, and while it usually provided some comfort to Lira’s nerves, now it just set her on edge. “What is it like?”

Lira licked her lips. A prison? A dustbowl? A cave where you can see the scratches in the rock from where others tried to claw their way out? None of them seemed fitting.

 _“It’s big_ ,” she signed at last. “ _Shiny_.” Alistair stared at her for a few seconds before he spoke up next.

“You didn’t like it there, did you?”

Lira let out a huff. No matter how much Alistair tried to play the fool, he was rather perceptive. It was one of the things she liked about him. She nodded.

_“I don’t have fond memories of the place.”_

“Well, then we’ll try to get this over with as soon as possible then,” Alistair said. “In and out. Quick mission. Just enough time to secure the treaties, and then we’ll be back at killing darkspawn and saving people who hate us.”

Lira couldn’t help but laugh. _“I don’t think it will be that simple.”_

“I can dream, can’t I? I’m not exactly looking forward to a place that makes you miserable.” Lira could hear the affection in his voice. “At least you get to see your sister again. You promised me her stew, remember.”

Lira perked up at the thought of Rica. Stone, she missed Rica. And Leske. They would be nice to see at the very least. She looked up at Alistair and took in the smile on his face. She so loved that smile. She loved-

Well, that was a thought for another day.

 _“That I did,”_ Lira signed. They took a step up to the gates and Lira watched as one of the guard’s eyes narrowed at the sign of her tattooed cheek.

Welcome home, Lira thought. Didn’t miss you.  

* * *

Lira’s first hour in Orzammar went like this; a fight in the main square, a political debate, and a handful of demeaning comments sent in her direction.

Alistair took the last bit the worst.

“I can’t believe they said that!” Alistair said, throwing up his arms. They were in Dust Town, walking past a group of bandits they’d just knocked out. “You’re a Grey Warden! You should be respected!”

“For once, I’m going to agree with our friend Alistair here,” Zevran added. “Such a beautiful woman should not be treated so poorly.”

 _“It’s normal,_ ” Lira signed. She was headed towards her house. Rica would know something about what was going on. Given Alistair’s grumbling, he wasn’t ready to let the topic go.

“They tried to spit on you! How can that be normal!”

 _“I’m castless. Dirt. You spit on dirt. That’s really it.”_ Lira found her door to her house and pushed inside. She needed this conversation to end. She needed Rica.

She was met with an empty living room.

* * *

Rica was a Mom.

She was an Aunt.

Lira was not drunk enough for this.

“I need you to help me,” Rica said. Pleaded. Rica almost never pleaded for anything. “I need you to get my Bhelen on the throne.”

    Lira stared at her. Rica had to know what she was asking her. If she put her weight behind this king, this man, she was putting the Warden’s weight behind him. Her reputation. Her sword. She would have to be someone’s weapon. Just like she used to do for Beraht.

    “Please, Lira.”

Those two words were what did her in. She couldn’t refuse a request from her sister.

She did what she was told. The papers were delivered. She met the man pulling her strings. He called her sister. He looked nothing like the man who used to order her around.

Lira saw Beraht anyway.

* * *

The longest her mother went sober was a week.

    It was Rica’s doing, Back when Lira was shy of 10, Rica worked up the nerve to sell off their mother’s booze in order to pay for their next meal. It was a stupid idea, Rica paid for it with some nasty bruises,and Lira remembered it with vivid detail. How could she not? The woman was a terror during the whole affair. She threw things. She said the most horrid of words. She eventually even sold off one of the pairs of shoes they still had to buy a thing of brandy.

    That wasn’t what Lira remembered the best, however. That award went to one of the nights when her mother was particularly quiet. Lira could still remember sitting on the stone floor that evening, her mother watching her from one of the nicer chairs they owned. While Lira had spent a large portion of her mother’s sober week getting out of her way, something had convinced her that night to attempt to reach out to her. She remembered whistling as softly as she could to get her mother’s attention, before signing the few words the Carta had taught her.

_Nug. Coin. Sword._

    Her mother stared at her for a moment. Lira signed a few more words, wondering if she was getting the point. That they meant something.

    _Sister. Ale. Dagger. Friend._

    Her mother’s face scrunched up at the last gesture. It turned her expression bitter and raw, and to look at it almost hurt. “You’re talking with your hands, aren’t ya?”

    Lira nodded. There was a beat of silence.

    “Carta teach you that?”

    That caught Lira by surprise. She didn’t expect her mother to know the source of her new found words. It was certainly possible that she’d seen Carta members use the language, they weren’t the most subtle in Dust town, but Lira never thought she was capable of paying close attention.

    Her mother scoffed, the scowl on her face growing meaner. Meaner than Lira had ever seen it. She leaned forward in her chair, and the thing creaked from the movement. “So my daughter’s a criminal, aye? Figures.” She spat on the ground. “Can’t say I’m surprised. They must love you.” Lira flinched. “A stupid little girl to use to do their bidding. Another blunt object to hit people with.”

    Lira heard a sound at the door, but she wasn’t really paying attention. Her whole focus was on her mother, eyes wide. The next time the older woman spoke, it was with enough venom to poison Lira’s blood. Her mind. Her soul.

    “I should have left you to the deep roads,” she snarled. “It would have been a mercy.”

    Lira didn’t see the rock flying through the air until it connected right into her Mother’s skull. It drew blood, a long cut going down the woman’s forehead. She reached for it, hissing, and Lira found her gaze traveling to the source of the rock’s movement.

Standing in the doorway, hands in fists, was Rica. She was still dressed nice, her hair done up like the men liked it, her makeup done with a skilled hand. All to make her beautiful. None of it mattered. The level of fury on her face made all the beauty fade away.

“You take that back,” Rica said, her voice deathly calm. “You take that back now or I will make you take it back.”

Lira stared with wide eyes. She’d never seen her sister like this. Her sister was calm. Her sister was nice. Her sister was the closest thing to a lady in a city of Dust. She was never the angry one. The furious one. That was always Lira’s territory. Their mother narrowed her eyes.

“Make me? You don’t have any talent of making men speak with your fists, girl. Only your fingers.”

Lira felt rage bubble in her gut and she turned to her mother, her hands clenching into fists.  Rica spoke before she could get off the ground. “Get out.”

Her mother laughed. “My house.”

“You don’t pay for it. So get the fuck out.” Swearing. Also unlike Rica. “Get out before I beat your skull in like I intended.”

All the Brosca women looked at the rock. The side was slicked with blood, but Lira could see the pointed edge to it now. It was the rock they kept on the mantle in case someone tried to break in. The rock they’d sharpened enough to cut a man’s throat. And Rica had thrown it at their own mother.

While Lira was processing that, their mother got up. Lira watched stunned as she headed towards the door, dragging the blanket with her. In a minute she was gone, the door shut behind her. Rica stepped forward, picked the rock off the floor and placed it back on the mantle. She pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Lira.” Lira froze at the sound of her own name. Rica sounded exhausted. “If Mother says anything like that to you again, bring me that rock, alright?”

Lira felt the room go very cold. The rock? To let her know it had happened? Or to suggest… To suggest….

“Can you do that?” Rica was looking at her now. After a second, Lira nodded. Rica visibly relaxed.

“She’ll probably be back tomorrow. But until then, I found us a rat.” She held out a bag. “What do you say to girl’s night? Just us sisters.”

It took everything Lira had to force a smile.

Rica’s prediction was right. her mother did return in the morning. And while the woman never said anything similar to what she did on that night, the words still lingered. Festered.

_Should have left you in the Deep Roads_

_Should have left you in the Deep Roads_

_The Deep Roads_

Seeing her mother again, in the flesh, only brought that chant back to the forefront of her mind.

“Lira,” the woman said. Lira could tell she’d been drinking, it was obvious from the grease in her hair, to the red circles under her eyes. She swayed a bit in place, and Lira wondered if she’d been able to get her hands on stronger stuff now that she was in the palace. “So the Darkspawn didn’t eat you alive.”

Lira could feel her companions staring at them. Stone, why hadn’t she told them to wait outside? They didn’t need to see this. She sighed, running a hand down her face and pointed to the bottle she spotted on the ledge. Even in her intoxicated state, her Mother could still understand the question.

“Of course I’ve been drinking. Now that your sister popped out that royal bastard, I get all the booze I want. Cus I’m the kid’s grandma.” She snorted, the laugh ugly and raw. Lira could feel the hair raise on her arms.

“I’m starting to understand your claim that our mother’s have a lot in common,” Morrigan said behind her. Lira felt the goosebumps on her arms vanish at that. Her Mother was just her Mother. Nothing she hadn’t dealt with before. After all she’d been through, the woman should have no ability to get under her skin.

As usual, her mother liked to prove her wrong. She leaned in, a lazy smirk on her face. It was far more unnerving than any Darkspawn. “So what have you been doing? Tell me. You whoring it out to some prince too?”

Lira felt herself go entirely still. A rose in her bag. A hand in hers. A kiss on her lips. All from-

“Excuse me,” Alistair said. His voice was strained between what sounded like outrage and horror. “Your daughter is a Grey Warden. That’s a position that demands respect.”

Lira could have groaned. That wasn’t going to work. That was just going to egg her on. As if on cue, her mother knelt down, in what was the most ungraceful curtsy of all time.  

“I’m sorry. I must have forgotten.”

That was it. Lira wouldn’t stand for more of this. She couldn’t. She turned on her heel and strode past Alistair, Morrigan and Zevran, walking as fast as she could. It wasn’t enough to shut up her mother.

“Dust is dust! That’s what you are! That’s all we’ll ever be!”

Lira was out the doors before she could hear anymore.

* * *

“What a hateful creature,” Morrigan said as soon as they left the palace. “I could turn her to a toad, if you would like.”

“I’m willing to assist in collecting whatever you may need in that venture,” Zevran added, his voice relatively light as usual. Lira wasn’t surprised; this likely wasn’t new to him. He knew what it was like.

Lira shook her head. She was shaking, though at the moment, she wasn’t sure if it was because she was furious or upset. Stone, she hated home. She hated it so much.

“Lira…” There was a hand on her shoulder. Large, calloused. Alistair. Lira let herself sink into it for a moment, let herself take comfort in it when-

_You whoring it out to some prince too?_

She pulled away at once, the words echoing in her mind. What if she was right? What if that was all she was to Alistair? It was impossible, he wasn’t like that, he couldn’t be. But. But-

_Dust is dust! That’s what you are! That’s all we’ll ever be!_

She took another step forward. She heard Alistair take a step to follow before he stopped. Probably held back.

“What are we up to next, Warden?” Zevran, coming for her rescue. Lira closed her eyes. Imagined dust in the space between her toes. When she raised her hands, the movement felt exhausting.

_“Dust town. We have a Carta to hunt.”_

* * *

Seeing Leske was like seeing land when drowning.

He looked the same as she left him. Greasy dark hair. Tired eyes. Boots that didn’t quite fit. To see him in the clearing, to see him smile at her in that old way she remembered so well….it was possibly the most beautiful sight she’d been greeted to all day. Without an ounce of shame, she ran to him, hugging him tight in a hug meant to bruise.

“Hey Duster,” Leske said, voice warm, fond, and comforting. “Missed you too.”

Lira wasted no time for instructions. She signed quicker than she had in ages, making sure to introduce every last one of her friends. Leske spoke to all of them, making the small talk he’d always been so good at.

“Lira, been gettin you lot into trouble?” He asked, leaning on Lira’s arm like he used to. Lira shoved him lightly at that comment, unable to keep the smile off her face.

 _“Don’t talk shit,”_ she signed. _“They like me. I’m not having you ruining it.”_ Leske snorted at that. “ _Quick matter of business. Do you know where the Carta is?”_

In retrospect, she should have noticed it then. The way his arm perched on her should slipped a bit. How he put more weight on his left foot than his right. The sudden lack of light in his eyes. It was so damn obvious. But it went right over her head. When he spoke of a Carta in her own home, she believed him. When he reached back for a hug, she did not feel the lack of warmth in it. When she watched him go, her stomach did not sink.

Lira was like a drowning woman. Leske was land. And in her panic, Lira hadn’t thought to check to see if her safe harbor was free of vipers.

It was only once she opened her front door to find the Carta waiting for her that she realized what he had done.

***

When she slammed through the door to the Carta hideout, they screamed.

She knew why. The recognized her. How could they not? She was the silent girl who fought in the pits, who bleed for the amusement of others. She was the weapon of the Carta that never screamed. She was the warrior who slaughtered the old boss and left Orzammar soaked in his blood.  

Half of them fled at the sight of her. Those who stayed, died for it.

Blood ran through the cobblestones as they made their way through the hideout. Lira tried to ignore the feeling of it soaking into her boots and pressed forward. When she encounters faces she once talked to, she once laughed with, they try to run her down. None succeed. In the end, they all died on her blade.

Leske included.

She tried to get him to stand down. Stone, she tried.

_This isn’t you, Leske._

_We’re friends Leske._

_Please Leske._

None of her signing worked. In the end, Leske stayed Jarvia’s puppet. When she commanded, he danced.

Their fight was an old one. Lira knew each of his moves as well as her own and so did he. When he turned right, she dodged. When she darted forward, he moved back. Every swipe of his daggers was as familiar as the streets of Orzammar.

She tried to keep to using her shield. To knock sense into him, if possible. For most of the fight, her sword stayed in it’s scabbard. But then he thrust forward. His daggers licked at her cheek, drawing blood. And he lifted them up to throw them right into Alistair’s heart.

Lira fought on instinct. She always had. It was like dancing. Take out your sword. Stand your ground. Don’t die.

Leske fought the same as she did. He too danced.

In the end, he danced his way onto Lira’s blade.

Lira approached his body, after everything was said and done. He was a mess, covered in blood, the sole wound in his chest gaping and ugly. His daggers laid at his sides. Her safe harbor was gone. Lost to the sea.

Lira felt nothing.

* * *

That night, before they reported back to Bhelen, Lira snuck into her old house. Alone.

The bodies from the ambush were still there, lying on the floor, left to rot. Given the nature of Dust town, they’d be there for a week before someone bothered to drag them out. She pushed her way past them, working her way to her old room. The one she once shared with Rica.

It was cleared out for the most part. Rica likely sold most of her stuff when she left for the Warden’s. Lira trailed her hand across the wall of the house, taking in the cracks and the layer of soot. How often had she made pictures out of the same grime? How long had she slept in this ratty bed? How much had she hoped she was destined for something more in this very spot?

She turned, looking at a blank space of the wall. Her hand came up to wrap itself around the whistle that dangled from her neck. She’d been gone for months, off to some grand title, and what had changed? Her sister had left her for a prince. Her mother hated her more than ever before. Leske was dead. And she was still someone’s weapon.

 _Did you ever really stop?_ Lira squeezed her eyes shut at the thought. You just keep exchanging hands. Like an old sword. First Beraht. Then Duncan. Now Bhelen. Would she be the Warden’s sword after this? Or would she be Alistair’s, a tool of another king, because kings did not lie with dwarves. Kings never would.

She was a fool. She was a fool for trying to be anything more. Stupid. Just like her mother said.

She opened her mouth wide, a silent cry. Before she could think about it, she was destroying everything in sight. The table she smashed until it was splinters. The cot she kicked until it fell apart. The wall she punched until her knuckles bled like rivers. The world wanted her a weapon? Fine. She would be one.

She tugged at the whistle around her neck. It came off after leaving a rope burn around her neck. Lira clenched it tight in her palm and looked down at it with a hatred she didn’t know she possessed. Weapons had no voices. Fuck her, for ever thinking she could try.

And with that thought, she threw the whistle against the wall.

* * *

 

She remained there for one more hour before heading back to camp.

Thirty minutes after her departure, a form somewhat too large entered her old house and took in the wreckage. The bloody wall. The broken furniture. The discarded whistle.

“Oh, Lira.” A sigh. “Goddamn it.”

The figure picked it up with shaking hands and left.

* * *

Bhelen wanted to send them to the Deep Roads.

_Should have left you in the Deep Roads._

“Branka will secure the vote,” Bhelen said, voice a low rumble.

_The Deep Roads are where we Wardens go to die._

“If we want any peace, someone will have to find her.” Behind her, Lira could hear Alistair suck in a breath. Normally, that sound would pull at her heartstrings. Now, there was now heart to pull

_Nug. Coin. Sword. Sister. Ale. Dagger. Friend._

“Will you go?”

_Dust is dust!_

Lira nodded.

In the depths of Alistair’s pocket, her whistle waited in darkness.


End file.
